


use your words

by imalwaysstraight, scarlett09



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, can I tag it again: dirty talk, total filth even for this fandom pls forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:00:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8180750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalwaysstraight/pseuds/imalwaysstraight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlett09/pseuds/scarlett09
Summary: Tell me the truth/Are you thinking of me? Good God, Adam's mouth.This was new: Adam leaning in, breath hot against his cheek, and whispering things that made Ronan blush doubly, once at their filth, and then again at the thought of atoning for them in confessional.--In which Ronan is awake as ever after midnight mass, Adam realizes the symbolism inherent in living above a church, and both of them figure out what words can do to a person. Which is to say, a lot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned: the entire plot of this is dirty talk, and the entire text of it is sex. Semi-inspired by Cheat Codes' "Visions", which the above lyrics are from.

“You're the fucking devil.” Ronan Lynch threw his head back against Adam’s lumpy pillow and pushed down into it, squirming, trying to pull the scratchy sheets off the bed. Maybe if he squirmed enough, he could press pause, stop feeling for a moment or two, go numb just long enough for his pulse to quit beating its way out of his veins. “God, I can't-- fucking hell,” he spat.

“ _Language_ , Lynch,” came an innocently shocked murmur into his abs. “You say your Hail Marys with that mouth?” The quiet voice belonged to none other than that gloriously naked underworld incarnate who, moments prior, had been pressing his own mouth rather unholily against Ronan’s boxer briefs.

“Suck your dick with it, too.”

Ronan opened his eyes as Adam pulled up, kissing up his chest. “Someone's feeling particularly nasty today. Something happen at mass?”

“Well, when you-- you just kept--” Ronan grabbed for the right way to describe it, and found nothing.

Two hours ago, before midnight mass, he had known Adam. Well, sort of.

Adam Parrish, though entirely knowable, was not the type of person who lent himself to being pinned down. Ronan had been dating him for eight months now, and still he couldn’t quite wrap his head around Adam’s magic. He was at once a daydream and also far more real than anything else Ronan had ever loved. He was honey in tea on early Sunday mornings before church, and an overloaded cart careening through an empty 2 AM parking lot at breakneck speed, and as sheerly lovely as both. He was the sort of boy who left a good impression at dinner parties, whose currency was respect and effort, and also who could sneak you a such a well-dealt glance at just the right moment that he must, somewhere under all that practiced poise, possess mass-destruction-level snark.

Adam Parrish, or at least the Adam Parrish who Ronan had known and dreamt of and fallen in love with, had been confusing. He had not, however, been ruthless.

But now, good God, his  _mouth_.

This was new: Adam leaning in, breath hot against his cheek, and whispering things that made him blush doubly, once at their filth, and then again at the thought of atoning for them in confessional. Ronan supposed, when he had the cerebral ability to do so, that it was only natural that a boy whose hands and mind could do literally anything could also use his words to do literally anything.

It was driving him fucking wild.

They had been sticking hands down each other’s pants for a few months now, but something was up with his boyfriend tonight. He wondered if it was the pressure of the future, what with the college move-in date creeping ever closer. Or maybe it was the stress of the present, what with Adam’s hectic summer work schedule so he could eat during first semester. Or perhaps this pushy side to Adam had always been there, buried under cautious, tender touches and a fear of being too much, and he was just now letting it loose.

To be quite honest, Ronan didn’t particularly care for the _why_. He was more interested in the _how_ : how Adam had pushed him down on the mattress, for instance, or how Adam had undone his pants with his teeth, or how fucking hard he was right now.

He almost wanted--wow. He felt, maybe, like he could ask this unrestrained Adam about that-- that _thing_. Fucking. That was the word. Maybe he could ask about trying it out, and it wouldn’t be weird. Maybe it would still be weird. Maybe he could just _imply_ it and then blow it off if the suggestion went badly, and Parrish couldn’t tease him for suggesting it since he’d never suggested it in the first place. Maybe.

There was a hell of a lot more “maybe” involved in this situation than Ronan would’ve preferred.

He cleared his throat, realizing Adam was looking up at him expectantly, innocently. “You asshole,” he spat finally. Adam smirked, and Ronan’s gut lurched. “I was-- You, um-- Did-- maybe we could try something new? Since you’re already...” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of Adam, hoping he’d get the gist.

Adam sat back. “What did you have in mind?”

Ronan could feel a blush beginning to warm in his cheeks, and his already-hesitant momentum slowed further. “I-- um.” He looked away, swallowing dryly. “Never mind.”

“Use your words.” Adam had a now-legitimately devilish look on his face. A knowing smirk. _Oh,_ **_no_**.

“I am using my words,” Ronan said indignantly. “Asshole.”

“You know what I mean,” Adam said, leaning back over onto Ronan to press a kiss to his cheek. “Use. Your. Words.”

He groaned, “Adam.”

“Come on, Ronan. Let's start with the basics. Who do you want?”

“What?”

“ _Who_?”

“I don’t-- you,” he mumbled.

* * *

 

God, Adam had spent so much time thinking about this that he didn't think he'd ever get over having Ronan in the flesh. Even now, after months of it. Before, there had been so many mornings in the shower before work playing dreams on repeat--Ronan, naked, wanting; Ronan, naked, touching himself; Ronan, naked, under him--so vivid and impossible and shameful they filled him with the panic of nightmares.

And here he was. It never failed to amaze him.

“Louder,” Adam said into Ronan’s neck. He wasn’t sure he’d ever used that voice before tonight, but he was sure he liked it. He was pretty sure Ronan liked it too, from the way he’d shivered when Adam had pushed him down and used it ten minutes ago--how he’d gotten hard in a matter of seconds--and so Adam had kept using it.

“You,” Ronan repeated. The reverence in his voice shot straight to Adam’s boxers.

“Good. What do you want?”

“ _You_ , you fucker,” Ronan grumbled. “I just said. _Twice_.”

“Not who. What.” Adam tried to smirk again, not just straight-up grin, but he had an idea of _what_ Ronan wanted and _oh my god yes._

“Holy shit,” Ronan said slowly, like he was uncovering a conspiracy. “You fucking jerk. Are we going through the whole goddamn list? ‘Who, what, when, where--’”

“Well, until you learn to use your words--”

Ronan made a noise of deep frustration and threw his head back against the pillow, his eyes screwing tight and his cock hard against Adam’s thigh. “I want you to fuck me, okay? Here, now, ASAP, please. God. You win.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile now, and kiss Ronan, and then his mouth--somehow--just kept going. “Is that what you think about? At night?”

“What?”

“Do you touch yourself and think about it? Me fucking you? I know I do,” he continued, pushing back to his knees and running his thumb over the waistband of Ronan’s boxers. “Yeah?” Ronan nodded slowly, and Adam pulled them down and off before sitting back on his knees. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me how you touch yourself.”

“You're fucking--God.”

“I just wanna see you. Is that a crime?”

Ronan seemed to find himself frustratingly bereft of words, and settled instead for glaring at Adam as he took hold of his cock, biting his lip.

Adam smiled to himself again. “Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” Ronan groaned, mask of a glare melting away with the pleasure. “Shit.”

“What else do you do? Do you touch yourself anywhere else? You must.” Ronan ran his free hand up, over his chest, and then slowly down to the base of his cock. “Is that all?” Adam let out a long breath, shifting from his knees to sitting, trying to steady himself. “Have you ever fingered yourself? Ever thought about it?”

Ronan froze.

“Use your words, Ronan,” Adam coaxed.

“Yes.”

“Yes to which?”

“Both.”

“That’s hot as hell. Show me,” Adam said again. Hesitantly, like he could possibly be embarrassed in front of someone who clearly wanted him so bad, Ronan asked, "Do you have lube?"

"Shit, yeah, sorry." For a second, Adam forgot the power game he was trying to play. The power game Ronan seemed to want him to play. That thought made him dizzy enough to almost fall off the bed as he reached blindly for the small collection he kept under the loose tile next to his bed, the one of unholy items he wouldn't want the nuns of St. Agnes finding if the world finally did him in and they had to handle his possessions. Sometimes he felt like he was not a person, really, but rather an absurd number of contingency plans stacked on top of one another in a trench coat. 

This. Right, this. This thing. Whatever they were about to do. He needed to be here for this. Ronan needed him to be here for this. He popped the bottle open and handed it to Ronan, who eyed it and then smirked at him. Adam couldn’t believe this was really happening. “This is-- this thing-- when I-- this is good for you, right? Like you’re--”

“Yeah,” Ronan said. “Yeah, it’s good. Don’t stop.”

“I wonder what it’s like,” he continued. “I mean, I've never, but... I've thought about you doing it.”

Ronan pushed inside himself with a gasp. Adam was pretty sure he could never forget that sound now, or the look on Ronan’s face as he said, “You think about what?”

“I’ve thought about this.” _And I want you so bad_. Words with real, clear meaning--words that were more than physical, words that were confessions--were still difficult. Something about the look in Ronan’s eyes said he understood anyway.

As Ronan added a second finger and began to establish a rhythm, watching himself and occasionally sneaking a furtive glance up at Adam, Adam wondered what else he could say. This was a little like an in-class essay, he mused, except entirely more enjoyable. He hadn’t known Ronan was this--well, this _kinky_ , and at the back of his mind, he wondered what sort of dirty talk could push it further. Watching Ronan get this embarrassed and this turned on simultaneously was, Adam would freely admit, fucking hot: so how far could he run with it?

He cleared his throat. “So this is what gets you off, hmm?” Ronan seemed to rock up onto himself at the sound of his voice breaking the silence. “You lay in bed and fuck yourself and think about someone else splaying you open like this?” Lynch moaned at the words, nodding slowly. “Who, though? What about Noah-- talk about morbid, but wouldn’t that be fun? Ooh, what about-- oh, no, you wouldn't. You're not such a slut that you'd fuck yourself with your fingers and imagine it was Gansey inside you, would you?”

Ronan bucked.

Adam let out a slow whistle. “Goddamn. Gansey, right outside your room, twenty feet away while you think about him fucking you. What if he walked in on you, can you imagine? Gansey, seeing you like this, fingers stuffed inside yourself, moaning and shaking like a whore? Saying his name? Would you like that? Would you be embarrassed? I bet. But would you stop?”

“Parrish.”

“Would the shame make you cum?”

“ _Adam._ ” The m turned into a long hum that began to twinge up into a whine as Ronan thrust his fingers harder. This was going to end soon if Adam didn’t do something.

“Don’t cum,” he warned, and Ronan let go of his cock immediately, letting out a long breath. Slowly, he eased three fingers out of himself, hissing as they slipped out. _Shit_ , thought Adam. He hadn’t even seen the third one go in.

“ _Ronan_ ,” Adam groaned despite himself. Goodness, his voice. He sounded hungry.

Judging by his moan, untouched, Ronan seemed to like the hunger. Perhaps quite a bit.

Watching Ronan fuck himself-- _God, the thought alone_ \-- and seeing firsthand how much he was turned on by getting himself off in front of him had been delicious in its own right. But still: he had practically had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and _touching_.

Adam had always been an expert in wanting, and in taking things when and only when he knew he had earned them. It was a survival tactic: the ultimate independence, reaping only what you had sown. He felt the pull of that instinct now, doubt nagging him to check one more time, make sure he had earned this, anxiety trying to worm its way into his head as he looked at Ronan--Ronan laid bare before him, flushed, panting, legs spread, so painfully hard, fucked open, so goddamn wrecked, so close to cumming without Adam having laid a hand on him, moaning his name--  

Ronan Lynch’s trust was not something you could just be given without having earned it. And this, this was something Adam had wanted for how long? Certainly too long.

And this, this was something he wanted so bad.

Holy hell, he wanted Ronan so fucking bad.

Adam moved to duck his head down between Ronan’s legs, but Ronan snapped his thighs shut so fast, Adam didn’t even make it to knee-level. “No.” He looked up at Ronan, confused and concerned. Had he been reading this whole thing wrong, somehow? “No, I mean-- God-- if you touch me at all I’ll fucking lose it. Not yet.”

“What do you want, then?”

Adam hadn’t been aware that Ronan Lynch was capable of emitting any sort of sound that could be construed as a whimper, and yet there it was.

“Use your words, remember.”

Whatever patience Ronan had left in him--not that there was ever much to begin with--was gone. “Fuck me, Adam, please.”

“I think about this too, you know. This is what I’ve thought about for, like, a year now. What gets me off.” Adam gulped. “Fucking you.”

“Yeah?” Ronan looked both comforted by and slightly dazed at the thought.

“Yeah,” said Adam, leaning over Ronan to the cardboard nightstand to grab a condom from under the Tile of Sin. _God, grabbing a condom. To fuck Ronan. Wow. Okay. Wow._ “Can’t help it, you’re so goddamn hot.”

“Am I good in your head?” He looked up from putting the condom on to see Ronan making a smug face. Adam wanted to kiss it off him, and he could--he didn’t think he’d ever get over the fact that he could kiss Ronan, either--and so he did.

“Stellar,” he murmured against Ronan’s cheek.

“That’s a lot to live up to.”

“Trust me,” he said against his neck. “You’ve already surpassed it. You’re a fucking dream.”

“Do it then,” Ronan whispered. “ _C’mon_.”

The first inch in was too much--too hot, too constricting, too good--and Adam had to stop and take a deep breath. Process. Open his eyes and look at Ronan below him, whose eyes were still scrunched shut. He wanted to just stay here forever.

Finally, Ronan let out a breath. “Get a move on, asshole.”

Adam laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “So charming.”

“Hey, I’m just using my words.” And there was that usual glint in Ronan’s eye, the one that said “bite me”. The fact that to him, Ronan meant it literally was yet another item on the apparently ever-growing list of “Things Adam Parrish Will Never Get Over.”

Adam began to pull out and press in, still slow. “Just let me know if it’s too much or anything, or too hard, or--”

“So good,” Ronan groaned, and leaned up to kiss him back. “You feel so good. Keep going.”

Adam concentrated on slowly picking up a smooth rhythm, fucking steadily, delighting in Ronan’s quiet gasps, his chest rising and falling under Adam’s hand. He was bone and blood and alive. Adam was pretty sure he’d never buy the crap about the whole divine creation thing, but this closeness was something holy.

He thought of Ronan bucking and shivering on his own fingers at his words, and he leaned down to kiss Ronan’s neck. “Who are you thinking about?”

“Adam,” moaned Ronan again. “God. Shit. You. I want you so bad. I always think of you. It’s always been you.”

“You cum thinking about me?”

“Yeah. So fucking hard.”

“What do I do in your head?” Adam asked. “What does it feel like? Are you this fucking tight?”

“Harder,” Ronan rasped. Adam tried to push his hips a little faster, but he wasn’t sure if it was physically or mentally possible. His brain was on overdrive: too much happening at once. “Yeah, yeah. And put--” Slowly, searching across his chest blindly, Ronan found one of Adam’s hands and pulled it up to his mouth. He sucked two fingers in, and _holy shit._

“Shit, Ronan, oh fuck.” Ronan moaned around his fingers and Adam’s heart threatened to leave his chest. “You’re fucking amazing, Jesus Christ, _Ronan_.”

Ronan pulled his fingers out of his mouth with a wet _pop_ that Adam wasn’t sure was legal in a church building. If Adam had teased him about his terseness before, Ronan seemed to have taken the advice to heart, because as soon as his mouth was free, words were spilling out. “Please, Adam, I’m gonna cum, Adam, God, fuck, Adam, yeah, please, I’m gonna--Ad...” His voice was rough and breathless and quaking.

“Jesus, yes, _Ronan_.”

And then Ronan was shaking and gasping for air, tremors wracking his body, chest heaving and thighs shivering and hips bucking against Adam, and Adam could feel all of it at once, Ronan Lynch coming apart with pleasure underneath him. Adam could pinpoint the moment he realized he was fucking gone.

* * *

 

Adam opened his eyes once he felt like he could breathe again, and there was Ronan, practically glowing pale, lying next to him with his eyes trained on the shitty plaster ceiling. It felt a little bit like a dream.

Scratch that, it felt very much like a dream, especially when Ronan looked over at him.

“You good?” They weren’t that far from each other--they couldn’t be, not on his twin size one-pillow bed--and so his whisper felt loud in the silence. The St. Agnes night was perfectly still around them.

“Yeah,” Ronan nodded. “I-- wow.”

“You want a tissue?” He passed him one from the cardboard bedside table. Ronan wiped up, not saying anything, and then tossed the used tissue off the bed onto the floor and closed his eyes. Adam looked at him. He kept his eyes closed. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. They should have midnight mass more often.”

“Just-- you’re absolutely sure you’re fine?”

Ronan cracked a slight smile, turned, and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m good. You fucking nerd.”

Adam pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’s why you love me.”

He could feel Ronan’s smile against his lips. “Damn right.” That fact, Adam thought, might be the most ridiculous and unbelievable thing he’d encountered over the course of these last two years. But just like all of the strange and impossible things that Henrietta nights like these had thrown at him--this boy in his arms included--here it was, believable, and here he was, believing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading/making it to the end-- please let me know what you liked or what you didn't!


End file.
